Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (22 page)

He was, he suddenly apprehended, ravenous. Diccon had said he
would come at twelve o'clock, but it must surely be much later than
that. He glanced up and his nose all but collided with the piece of
crusty bread, well-buttered, and topped by a slice of ham that Nanette
thrust at him. Her eyes, beyond this superb offering, held scorn,
seeing which he at once politely declined. She shrugged carelessly and
sank her white teeth into the feast. Harry, his mouth watering, turned
away.

"Bought it at the inn," she explained rather indistinctly. "I
wonder you did not think to do so. Unless—now that you've properly met
your Goddess, you intend to moon and sigh and waste away for love."

For once he was able to bite back his furious response. He
fixed her instead with what he hoped was a cool stare—somewhat marred
by the sight of her second onslaught upon her lunch.

"Had a cousin who did that," she mumbled. "He fell madly in
love with an actress—quite beneath his touch, of course, and his papa
would not hear of his wedding her. Poor lad would eat nothing for three
days! He went about reading Byron—even tied a kerchief around his neck
instead of a neckcloth." She gave a callous trill of laughter and
almost choked. "I thought it hilarious!"

Longing to throw her to the nearest crocodile, Harry said at
his iciest, "Really?"

"So did his papa," she nodded, recovering her breath. "And the
actress—well, she was fairly in stitches."

"Is that so?"

She confirmed the fact, quite cheerfully unfrozen although she
should by rights have been severely frosted by this time and, waving
her lunch with apparent nonchalance under his haughtily elevated
nostrils, shrugged, Of course—
he
was only thirteen
at the time…"

Between her mischievously dancing eyes and the memory of just
such a youthful passion, Harry burst into a laugh. "Wretched little
shrew! You may count yourself fortunate there are no alligators lurking
about!"

"May I? she giggled. A ray of sun slanted across Harry's face,
and watching him, the mirth faded from her expression. "And—what
did
you think of Nerina?" she asked idly.

He sighed. "That she is as lovely, as gentle, as sweetly
mannered as any man could desire." His eyes became wistful and, after a
moment, no response being heard, he glanced up and into a withering
glare.

'"Desire… pah!" she said with scathing contempt. "How ghastly
to be a man! To be everlastingly and totally—"

"Motivated by lust—no?" Harry interpolated, immediately ablaze
with righteous indignation.

Her chin lifted, and with a droop of disdainful eyelids she
sneered, "If the cap fits…"

"If you did but know," he grated savagely, "how I had to
struggle to restrain myself from stripping the clothes from her—right
there in 'the parlour!"

"Good God!" gasped Nanette, horrified. "If you
ever
hope to win her, do not dare to make so crude a remark within
her
hearing!"

"Of course I would not," he said, flushing with guilt. "Do you
take me for a flat? I am aware she is a perfect lady."

"I see." She put down her lunch and with a fluid movement
stood beside him. "And you are also aware of what I am—eh, Captain Sir
Harry Redmond?"

The tone was one he'd not heard before. He was on his feet in
a flash and, catching her by the shoulders, shook her gently. "You
infuriate me when you speak so cynically of men. But I meant no
disrespect to you, little one."

"Why should you respect such as I?" How high her head was
held… how prideful the glint in her hazel eyes, and with what quelling
scorn did she speak now. "I am a wanton, who roams the countryside with
two strange men; and had I a reputation to start with, it is certainly
trampled in the dust by now."

The ice in her tone struck to his heart, but the knowledge
that he had hurt her was a deeper pang; and in an attempt to win her to
a smile again, he teased, "Even if one of your fellow wanderers is—a
'mere baronet'?"

Her mouth quivered responsively. Laughter danced into Harry's
eyes, and pressing his advantage, he reached for her hands. "I was
properly driven against the ropes, was I not? Forgive me, little one.
It was an unforgivable thing to say. I
do
apologize."

For an instant she stood there, gazing up at him. Her hands
began to tremble in his clasp, and Harry knew a confusing need to pull
her into his arms; but she drew quickly away and, sitting down, opened
the package she carried and unwrapped another piece of bread, this
topped with a slice of roast beef that drew a blissful groan from him
as he again sat beside her. "Mademoiselle," he said, accepting the food
gratefully, "you are a diamond of the first water!" She chuckled, and
they ate together, chatting in perfect harmony until he glanced down at
the tight bun atop her head and asked quietly, "Am I forgiven?"

"Of course. Oh, but I have such a dreadfully quick temper,
Harry. You must not heed me when I behave so—or you will not like me at
all, I… fear."

"To the contrary, miss. I
shall
heed
you. And do you become too—"

"Shrewish?" she prompted.

"Shrewish," he grinned, watching that dimple come and go
beside her lips. "Then I shall simply have to box your ears again!"

She laughed. "When you first came into "The Star," you looked
more ready to do murder than to box someone's ears."

"I was," he said slowly. "I am. I shall. Though it will not be
murder."

"Harry… do not! It frightens me to see you look… Who is this
man you mean to fight? Did you see him here? Today?"

He nodded, hesitated, then said, "I have told you of my
brother, Mitchell . . ?"

"Yes. Your poor brother who is so forgetful and whom you did
not allow to share your troubles but sent back to Oxford as though he
were a little child. I think, when he discovers the truth, he will
punch your head for this."

His smile was brief and did not reach his eyes. "Probably.
Though it seems that he is not at Oxford for he discovered the truth—or
some of it, and went rushing off to call out the man he thought
responsible. Today, before I came to "The Star," I was told Mitchell
had been… killed in that duel…"

He had expected understanding but was unprepared for the tears
that filled her eyes, or for the soft cry of pity she uttered, and the
arms that suddenly swept around him, to draw his head to her shoulder.
"Ah… my poor, grieving boy," she said huskily. "And I have tease and
torment you while you suffer such heartbreak! My dear… my dear—I am so
sorry! I know—too well what it means to lose someone you love."

It was the second time Harry had been clasped in her arms, and
for an instant he did not move, delighting in the sweet, fresh scent of
her, the warm softness of her little body. He straightened then and
with an awed sense of wonder said, "What a very remarkable girl you
are… Thank you, my sweet."

Her lips trembled; a tear slid down, and she gulped, "You are…
so brave. I know how much he meant to you."

Gently, he wiped away that gleaming droplet, then pulled her
into a hug and, vaguely surprised that this should cause his pulse to
quicken, said, "Do not grieve so, dear child. Mitchell is not dead—
thank God!"

She all but sprang back and, dashing away her tears, cried
furiously, "You have deceived me yet again! Oh, but you are the
horridest man alive! I
hate
you, Harry Redmond!
How could you let me make such a great exhibition of… of…" And she
stopped, her flushed cheeks paling once more as he watched her gravely.
"Dear heaven," she whispered, her eyes dark with new horror. "Someone
told you that—by mistake? And you really
believed
him—dead?"

"I believed him dead, but there was no mistake." His jaw set
grimly. "I was meant to believe it, so as to provide entertainment."

Nanette gave a shocked cry, but before she could speak they
heard hooves and the rattle of wheels. His cheerful self again, Harry
sprang up. "Here's our Diccon at last!" He assisted her to rise and
started toward the oncoming cart only to stop uncertainly. A gypsy was
driving; a young man, little more than a boy, but with a powerful pair
of shoulders and large, expressive eyes, almost as dark as his tumbled
black hair. For an instant Harry stood in mute astonishment; then he
gave a shout, "Daniel! What the devil are you doing up there?"

The cart halted. With a lithe spring the gypsy alighted, and
for a short while the two men alternately pounded at and smiled upon
one another. But watching them, Nanette saw that while Harry said a
good deal, the gypsy said nothing at all, although he seemed just as
delighted by this meeting.

"Miss Nanettte," said Harry. "This is my very good friend
Daniel."

She smiled, and the gypsy touched his brow with shy respect.

"He cannot speak," Harry explained. "But he can hear you. He's
a splendid fighting man, and hauled Lucian St. Clair out of the river
last year when he all but stuck his spoon in the wall… You doubtless
heard about it. Dan, I suppose you are acquainted with our Trader.
Where is he?"

For answer Daniel drew a folded paper from his pocket and
handed it to Nanette. She broke the wafer, unfolded the sheet, and
scanned it rapidly. When she finished, she looked pale and worried, and
said, "He asks that I read you this last paragraph… 'Harry, I've got
some work I must do, and I will not be able to come back for a few
days. I know as you will take care of the young lady and Mr. Fox. I'll
come up with you by the time you gets to Chichester. Meantime, you'd
best keep to the byways, as I think Miss Nanette's father is looking
for her very hard like… ' "

"It won't do!" Harry frowned. "Little one, you simply will
have to go back with— Now, where in the deuce did he get to?"

Lifting her troubled gaze from Diccon's scrawl, Nanette said a
blank, "Your pardon?"

"Daniel—he's gone! Now blast it all, this
will not
do, ma'am! It was bad enough for you to be traipsing about with Diccon,
but…" His words died away, for she looked so very scared all at once,
and so little. He said regretfully, "I'm sorry, but I shall
have
to take you back to Lady Nerina."

"No! Oh, no! Harry—please! Diccon says my papa is close by! I
beg of you—do not let him take me back.
Please .
. !"

"Dear child," he said gently, "be sensible. Lady Nerina was
quite right, you know. You are a lady of Quality, and for us to travel
alone would most certainly spell your ruin!" And God knows," he
thought, "what it would spell for me!"

She clung to the lapel of his jacket, gazing up at him like an
apprehensive child indeed. "Foolish one! Why do you think I wear this
ugly frock? Why is my hair in this hideous bun, except to prevent
myself from being recognized? To make sure that Diccon—or you—shall not
be accused of… of…" She blushed and her lashes swept down.

"Compromising you?" And with an impact that was near physical,
he acknowledged to himself that she was quite hopelessly compromised.

"Yes. No! Harry—I know you would not harm me."

He patted that small, tugging hand and pointed out with a
rather crooked smile that he
had
boxed her ears.
She implored him to be serious and to escort her if only as far as
Chichester… She really was very pretty, thought Harry; and several
times of late he had fancied to catch a glimpse of something in her
eyes that told him she was not indifferent to him. Not love, perhaps,
but certainly a fondness. As for himself, he had been in love so many
times… Or had he? What was it Mitchell had said? Something about his
not having the same 'look' as St. Clair . . ? His love for Dorothy had
not been love at all, he knew that now. And Nerina? He admired her,
certainly—as one would admire a beautiful painting, or a flower. A
flash of defiance asserted, "She is exquisite!" But common sense,
recalling her empty chatter and the betrayal of selfishness, whispered,
"You love the Beauty, not the girl beneath it…" The thought of Nerina
coping with life in the train of an army brought a wry grin to his
lips. But instantly he could see Nanette, weeping with frustration
because his hurts had sickened her… envying Juana Smith for having
shared her husband's perils during the war. He glanced down at her, so
lost in thought he was oblivious to the angry sparkle in the big eyes,
the jut of the little chin. Here was a girl whose furies as swiftly
gave way to laughter, whose heart was as warm as her mind was bright
and enquiring. They might not love one another, yet life with his
'little shrew' could only be a zestful adventure. If he joined up, the
men would adore her certainly, as they had adored Juana…

"Monster!" she raged, stamping her foot with frustration. "You
have heard not one word of all the things I have spoken!"

"No," he grinned. He placed one long finger beneath her chin
and, tilting it a little higher, said, "Been practicing a speech of my
own. Now do stop scowling so, and listen… Little one—you're not in love
with me, nor I with you. But it would suit you to acquire a husband,
and I must wed sooner or later. I think we might deal quite well
together. What d'you say?"

For an instant she stared at him speechlessly. Then her eyes
filled, and the glittering drops spilled over. The sweet child was
overcome. Smiling his tenderest smile, Harry leaned forward—to be
staggered by the hand that slapped across his face with all her
considerable strength behind it.

"Beast!"' she exploded, fairly dancing her fury. "Unfeeling!
Pompous! Pedantic! Idiotish!
Oooh
!"

"The devil!" blinked Harry, holding his smarting cheek. "In
case no one ever instructed you, ma'am, that is
not
the proper way to respond to an offer!"

"Offer!
Is that
what you call it? That
was not an offer, you puffed-up bag of conceit! That was a
sanctimonious martyrdom—a sacrificial willingness to save me and to
accept second-best from life! Well, I am not
that
desperate, Harry Sir Captain Redmond! Oh—or whatever! Sooner than wed a
star-crossed, gushy-eyed, half-blind, maggot-witted chawbacon like
you—I'll marry my uncle! And be dashed to you!"